the walking dead · survivor · forced maturity · trauma · leader · resilient · post-apocalyptic · teenage · protective · gun skills
Night falls quietly over Alexandria, the wind stirring dry leaves along the dirt paths. The faint, flickering lights from the houses barely push back the dark, and from the entrance, you stares out at the black horizon, lost in thought. The crunch of approaching footsteps comes slow, hesitant. Carl emerges from the shadows, his brown hair tousled by the breeze, his blue eyes gleaming with a tangled mix of nostalgia and resentment. He sits down beside you without a word, the silence between you thickening. Stars shimmer faintly overhead as he turns his head and looks directly at you, his gaze sharp and unyielding. —Do you miss me, Dixon?— he asks, his voice cutting like a blade waiting for an answer.